


He Drew Me A Line

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t think much of it, the black grooved frame, still shiny and new, until he catches sight of the photo and almost drops it, frame and all.  It’s his sister, or rather it could have been almost sixty years ago.  It’s the same slightly lopsided smile and button nose, although the squinty eyes are definitely MacKenzie’s, complete with tiny crinkles in the corner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Drew Me A Line

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Civil Wars "I Had Me a Girl"

When he tells her not to speak to him unless absolutely necessary, he’s expecting there to be a certain amount of protest, or later, dissent. Aside from the stunt she pulls the first night, however, she seems content to leave him alone. She meets with him in the morning and briefly after the afternoon rundowns, and while they do joke occasionally as the weeks pass, they don’t venture far from topics directly concerning that night’s broadcast.

In an odd way, it’s almost as if they’ve started again. He’s still bitter, still hurt and angry and he’s not above letting her know, but there’s a stilted quality to their conversations, particularly the ones they have outside the office, that make him think back to the early days.

There’s a certain quietness to her now, like the clock had rewound over the last three years, tucking away the characteristics and the imperfections he had brought out in her. He tries not to think about it much, thinking about MacKenzie never ends well, but when he does, it puzzles him. He’s never known her to be one to change in catastrophic leaps and bounds. There may be things he can’t trust about her, but he knows this isn’t one of them; MacKenzie is MacKenzie through and through.

He doesn’t mean to bring it up, but Mac had made him sit in on the eleven o’clock rundown and he had gotten bored. Boredom in general wasn’t the end of the world went it meant he got to tease her mercilessly in front of the staff, but it did lend itself to thinking. If he had missed these things before, these innumerable tiny things (he’s not thinking about the big things, that’s not territory he likes to venture into, ever) what else had he missed.

There are mementos. He’s noticed them before, trinkets tucked beneath stacks of papers and beside piles of books. Mac’s office looks a lot like his, devoid of personality, but messier, covered with the detritus common to her job. It’s all organized though, categorized, highlighted, and annotated which is what makes him wonder why these souvenirs are, aside from the single picture frame beside her desktop monitor, so carefully buried.

He had assumed it was a picture of her with Brian, the two of them had ridden off into the sunset as far as he knew, so he hasn’t bothered to pay much attention. It’s not tipped away, not hidden partially from his view and that’s what makes him wonder. He and Mac may not be together anymore, but she’s made a point of not rubbing it in his face. She respects his desire for privacy and he knows she tries to be discrete.

She’s out in the bullpen with Jim, answering a laundry list of questions leftover from the rundown, when he steps around her desk and picks up the photograph. He doesn’t think much of it, the black grooved frame, still shiny and new, until he catches sight of the photo and almost drops it, frame and all.

It’s his sister, or rather it could have been almost sixty years ago. It’s the same slightly lopsided smile and button nose, although the squinty eyes are definitely MacKenzie’s, complete with tiny crinkles in the corner.

MacKenzie’s eyes. “What the fuck are you doing with this job?” He rounds on her as soon as she enters her office. He doesn’t care that her door is still open or that he’s pressing the photo to his chest so hard that the edges of the frame are digging painfully into his skin. He’s known MacKenzie to be a lot of things but he’s never known her to be irresponsible.

She looks alarmed, confused, as she presses the door shut. She’s watching him, hovering by the door until she spots the photo in his hands.

“Brian left me. Last year. I kept looking around, but I needed something in New York. I didn’t want to, I couldn’t leave.”

“You could have taken Don’s slot at ten, hell you could have had Zane’s job. You could be home by six.”

“I want to produce the news.” Her voice rises, defiant and stubborn. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t deserve that.”

He’s silent for a moment, taken aback by the steely edge to her voice. Never, even in his moments of greatest anger, would he suggest such a thing. If anyone was undeserving it was this profession, the public as a whole. “Mac.”

She smiles faintly at his bewilderment, the silence that continues as she crosses her arms, tucking her hands away.

“She looks like you.” He offers, attempting to steer them back onto solid ground. “She’s beautiful.”

Mac flushes, equal parts embarrassed and perturbed by the insinuation. “She’s amazing.” She says proudly. “She’s so clever.”

Will smiles at how effortless the praise sounds, how easily Mac shifts from producer to mom and back again, the professional mask slipping back into place as he glances down at the photo again. Sunny yellow hair tinged with red, the button nose- the McAvoy button nose. Will blinks and looks again. He looks up at Mac and down at the photo. When he looks up again he can see thinly veiled panic settling over her features.

“She’s not Brian’s is she?”

“Will.”

“I always knew-“

“Will, please.”

“He left you because he couldn’t stand the thought of raising another man’s child.” His voice is low, carefully measured. He’s intending to keep his cool, despite the improbability of his being able to pull it off, but he also knows his careful indifference is prone to frighten her.

“He had his business. He had his dream. He didn’t need me anymore.” She lays the facts out systematically, unemotionally, despite the nervous tick of her fingers against her arms. “I never loved him. He knew that. He wanted me because, because he could. I was never-“

She falters, here, petering off to look at him helplessly. He’s still furious, still trying to take it all in, assimilate, parse, and digest the sudden rapid shift his life had taken.

“I have a daughter and you never fucking told me?” His voice is raised, carrying through the newroom as a whole, she shrinks away, professional confidence replaced with uncertainty.

“You were, you had, I needed him, Will. I’m sorry, please. I-“ She swallows brushing away an errant tear. “I didn’t know until after I left the show and there was no way to be certain. I couldn’t do it on my own and I didn’t want you to feel obligated. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t ruin your life a second time. As long as you had your career things would be ok. I knew that. I couldn’t.”

“Ruin my life.” He repeats hollowly. “You thought she would ruin my life? How could you possibly-“

The rest of his reply is cut off by a nervous knock on a door, a quick rap that suggests whatever needs attending to can’t wait much longer.

“We have preliminary numbers,” Jim’s head appears disembodied, the rest of him safely shielded behind the door. “We need one of you. Both maybe, but definitely one of you, whichever one you think- Mac.” He grabs her arm, appearing relieved that she’s standing so close, but stops when he catches sight of her face. “If you need a minute, I could- if you.“

“It’s all right, Jim.” She draws in a deep breath, wiping a hand over her face. “I’ll be right with you. Make sure Joey gets those notes I made, please.”

 

He’s still fuming by the time they go on air, but he’s calmed down enough not to do anything stupid. He’s more confused than hurt, so while it’s the same as it’s always been it’s different too. He’s distracted, yearning for answers, the need building until he wishes for once MacKenzie would start talking and never stop. She’s quiet though, making herself scarce, passing him off to Don when they reach key points in the broadcast. She’s trying not to rile him and that’s not like her.

She’s disappearing into her office by the time he makes it out from behind the anchor desk. He could follow her, but he doesn’t want to pen her in and demand answers. She wasn’t going to tell him what he wanted to know if he did that. Instead, he watches her make her way back through the newsroom a moment later, empty handed, her coat slung over one arm.

It’s Tuesday, the elections are over. Normally, she would be laden with binders and books, laying out the broadcast for the week, but she leaves without it all. He wonders how long this has been going on and why he hadn’t noticed before.

 

The rest of the week passes without incident. He leaves the photo on her desk alone and keeps his mouth shut. It’s not a new impulse but by the end of the week, it’s eating at him.

They’re off the air in ten minutes, he should really let it go, but he asks her to switch channels. She does and when she tells him she has, there’s a tiny quiver in her voice. Nerves, he thinks with a wince, as he asks her to meet him in his office after the show.

He changes while she finishes up and collects her things. When he leaves the bathroom her coat is laid out over a chair, a stack of books below it.

“I won’t keep you,” he promises, surprised when she doesn’t look relieved, she doesn’t look anything but nervous and that’s bringing back a whole slew of memories he doesn’t want to think about. “What’s her name?”

She looks up at him, surprised now. “Emmalina Rose McHale” she says quietly, “Rose for my grandmother.”

“Emma,” he muses, lips quirking up into a smile despite his best efforts.

“Mina,” she corrects refusing to look at him. “Brian always hated- She’s my Mina.”

Mina. He swallows thickly. Mina. The opera Iolanthe. Mina. Melanie, his mother. Mina. Mina Laury, Charlotte Bronte. Mina, Wilhelmina, Billy. He wanders through the connections all at once and much too slowly.

“You knew?” He asks too lost to bother with accusations.

“No.” She’s whispering now, picking at the lint on her skirt. “I didn’t pick out a name until after she was born. Even after I saw her I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t see it. I was terrified, but a part of me, I kept hoping you, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He grumbles annoyed despite the fact it’s the first time she’s apologized for anything today. It’s Brian and Mina, his _Mina_ , that send the words tumbling out of her mouth.

“He’s a dick,” He says flatly. “Don’t apologize for him. You know he wouldn’t bother.”

“He’s not a bad guy.” She replies weakly and Will has to admit that he isn’t, but he’s still a dick for not loving Mac, for not taking care of her like she deserved. As mad as he could be with her, as mad as he had been, he’s never wished for her to be alone. “I saw you. After you left, We met for coffee.”

“Charlie was there. I was exhausted. I’d been up all night with a colicky baby. You were miserable too, resentful that Charlie had made you come. We tied up lose ends and you left. Charlie offered to explain. I think that’s what he was hoping for all along, but you deserved better than that.”

He remembers that meeting. The distracted way he couldn’t take his eyes off her despite how much the sight of her sitting there had pained him. He could still remember the way her head felt tucked against his chest. He had wanted to hold her then, lull her to sleep and erase the dark smudges under his eyes. He can’t remember feeling resentful. 

“It was hard for me to see you.” He offers up his own bit of honesty hoping to bolster her now. 

Her gaze when she looks at him now is fleeting, but less hesitant than it had been.

“I was an idiot.”

“You were exhausted.” He says firmly, surprised that he’s not laying blame. He doesn’t blame her for this, for not telling him. He’s still hurt, still pissed that she cheated on him, that she had shattered every dream and illusion he’d held on to. He’s not angry about this though, that beautiful smile and tiny dimples. “You did the best you could.”

“It’s been three years. I could have told you. I’ve had a thousand chances in the last three years. In the last six and a half months.”

“Mac.”

“I was-“

“Stop apologizing. Tell me about her.”

“It’s late.” She sounds tired now, as if she’s suddenly aware of the hour and the emotional volatility of the conversation. “She’s beautiful. So much like you, Billy. She has your laugh. She loves sports. I’ll leave the tv on for her once in awhile so she can watch the game. She doesn’t understand it any more than I do but it’s the one thing that holds her attention for any amount of time. She hates wearing shoes, but I’ll find her in the closet banging the soles of my shoes together trying to make it sound like I’m coming home from work. She was Mina Mazzini for Halloween because she wanted to be herself but be on TV like me.”

“She’s three.” Will interrupts and Mac laughs.

“She has no idea who Mina Mazzini is. She told everyone she was Mina Mommy and insisted on wearing my sunglasses.”

“Pictures?” He asks, caught up in imagining.

She nods and walks over, standing close enough so that he can feel the heat coming off her body, feel the way she vibrates with joy.

The screen on her blackberry doesn’t do them justice, pudgy toddler face next to Mac’s grin, a tiny hand held within a bigger one, sunglasses slipping down a slender nose.

“I have other pictures at home. I could bring them in, if you want.” She offers when the photos on her phone cycle back on themselves.

“Monday.” He agrees despite the way he doesn’t want to let her leave. He hasn’t had long enough to commit them all to memory, all the tiny little things about his daughter. He doesn’t want to break the spell and spend the whole weekend longing. “Could you maybe,” he sighs to himself as she moves away, gathering up her things, “email me a couple?”

“I’ll send them right now.” Mac grins, the first signs of relief beginning to show on her features.


End file.
